Read Online Sleep Toward Heaven by Amanda Eyre Ward - Free Book Online
Authors: Amanda Eyre Ward
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up. “You know,” says Geraldine, “some of us students are holding a protest this weekend over at the U. If you came and made a statement, maybe asked for mercy, you could make a real difference.”
I don’t answer. I do not know what to say. I am speechless. “Think about it,” whispers Geraldine, placing a pink pamphlet under my nose. The pamphlet reads, “Two Wrongs Do Not Make a Right.” Geraldine gathers her romance novels and leaves me at my desk.
After a moment, I stand up and smooth my skirt. I walk to the ladies’ room. I lock the door behind me and peer into the mirror. It has been five years since Henry died, and I still wear my hair long, the way he loved it. I still buy Ritz crackers at the grocery store, but I can’t remember if it was me or Henry who liked them. I go to movies he would enjoy, and hike alone down the trails he loved so dearly. I live our life without him, because I don’t want any life of my own.
I know that Karen Lowens’ execution will never bring Henry back. I know, as well, that Karen is a fucked-up individual who has every right to live the rest of her life trying to make amends. I know that only God can take a life, that the death penalty is wrong. I know this in my bones. I also know that Henry would not want her executed.
I know all this, and yet I do not care. I hate that woman for taking everything from me and Goddamn it, I want her dead.
Maureen has told me to write a letter to Karen, to tell her how I feel. This letter is an exercise, Maureen was quick to tell me, and simply for my own well-being. It is not a letter to be mailed, but a letter to be burned, releasing some of the bitter anger that, despite my denials, I hold deep within my soul.
Back at my desk, I take a fresh legal pad from my drawer. After checking out a stack of gardening books for a man who looks like Gomer Pyle (and who, interestingly, has no dirt underneath his nails), I take a breath.
I begin with “Dear Karen,” and then I stop, and cross it out. I try again: “To Ms. Lowens,” and then the words come.
part two
july
karen
N eedles are something they talk about in Mountain View Unit. Lethal injection is the default method of execution in the state of Texas, and everybody has an opinion. Veronica hates needles. If she had her choice, she declares, she would choose a firing squad. (Bill, Veronica’s third husband, was killed with a bullet. Although he had arsenic in his body, when they finally found him under the wishing well in Veronica’s yard, the coroners decided it had been the gunshot to the back of his head that had finally done him in.)
Tiffany will not discuss her own execution, but says that needles in general give her the willies. She has always hated shots, she says, and even when her girls, may they rest in peace, had to get their shots, she would close her eyes. Needles, she says, are gross.
Jackie wants the needle. It won’t hurt, she says, and she’s always loved the drugs you get at the dentist. Those big pink pills? Vicodin, like after you get teeth pulled, good old Uncle Vikey. She loves that stuff. It’s like getting taken down a warm river, she says—bring it on. She has three weeks until her execution.
Karen wants to go cleanly, and without pain. She wants to slip into silence. Jackie says that if quiet is what she wants, she should go for the needle. Sharleen does not join them on the patio while they eat breakfast and talk. There isn’t a chair for her, anyway. Not yet.
Thursday is Karen’s birthday. She is twenty-nine, and has been on Death Row for five years. She feels a hundred years old.
Karen was born in Uvalde, Texas, a tiny town near San Antonio where there weren’t many black people. Her mother spent her nights in the city, turning tricks and shooting whatever she could find into her arm. When Karen’s mother was pregnant, she had settled down for a while, living with Karen’s grandmother in the trailer in Uvalde, but soon after Karen was
I don’t answer. I do not know what to say. I am speechless. “Think about it,” whispers Geraldine, placing a pink pamphlet under my nose. The pamphlet reads, “Two Wrongs Do Not Make a Right.” Geraldine gathers her romance novels and leaves me at my desk.
After a moment, I stand up and smooth my skirt. I walk to the ladies’ room. I lock the door behind me and peer into the mirror. It has been five years since Henry died, and I still wear my hair long, the way he loved it. I still buy Ritz crackers at the grocery store, but I can’t remember if it was me or Henry who liked them. I go to movies he would enjoy, and hike alone down the trails he loved so dearly. I live our life without him, because I don’t want any life of my own.
I know that Karen Lowens’ execution will never bring Henry back. I know, as well, that Karen is a fucked-up individual who has every right to live the rest of her life trying to make amends. I know that only God can take a life, that the death penalty is wrong. I know this in my bones. I also know that Henry would not want her executed.
I know all this, and yet I do not care. I hate that woman for taking everything from me and Goddamn it, I want her dead.
Maureen has told me to write a letter to Karen, to tell her how I feel. This letter is an exercise, Maureen was quick to tell me, and simply for my own well-being. It is not a letter to be mailed, but a letter to be burned, releasing some of the bitter anger that, despite my denials, I hold deep within my soul.
Back at my desk, I take a fresh legal pad from my drawer. After checking out a stack of gardening books for a man who looks like Gomer Pyle (and who, interestingly, has no dirt underneath his nails), I take a breath.
I begin with “Dear Karen,” and then I stop, and cross it out. I try again: “To Ms. Lowens,” and then the words come.
part two
july
karen
N eedles are something they talk about in Mountain View Unit. Lethal injection is the default method of execution in the state of Texas, and everybody has an opinion. Veronica hates needles. If she had her choice, she declares, she would choose a firing squad. (Bill, Veronica’s third husband, was killed with a bullet. Although he had arsenic in his body, when they finally found him under the wishing well in Veronica’s yard, the coroners decided it had been the gunshot to the back of his head that had finally done him in.)
Tiffany will not discuss her own execution, but says that needles in general give her the willies. She has always hated shots, she says, and even when her girls, may they rest in peace, had to get their shots, she would close her eyes. Needles, she says, are gross.
Jackie wants the needle. It won’t hurt, she says, and she’s always loved the drugs you get at the dentist. Those big pink pills? Vicodin, like after you get teeth pulled, good old Uncle Vikey. She loves that stuff. It’s like getting taken down a warm river, she says—bring it on. She has three weeks until her execution.
Karen wants to go cleanly, and without pain. She wants to slip into silence. Jackie says that if quiet is what she wants, she should go for the needle. Sharleen does not join them on the patio while they eat breakfast and talk. There isn’t a chair for her, anyway. Not yet.
Thursday is Karen’s birthday. She is twenty-nine, and has been on Death Row for five years. She feels a hundred years old.
Karen was born in Uvalde, Texas, a tiny town near San Antonio where there weren’t many black people. Her mother spent her nights in the city, turning tricks and shooting whatever she could find into her arm. When Karen’s mother was pregnant, she had settled down for a while, living with Karen’s grandmother in the trailer in Uvalde, but soon after Karen was
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